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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554093">Roses Have Thorns (They Say)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda'>Captain_Panda</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>For the Love of a Dragon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, BAMF Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Established Romance, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, uplifting ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:07:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554093</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonding with a dragon was easy.</p><p>One only had to look at Tony Stark and his father's former dragon, "Radon"--now "Marker"--to see the depth of their bond.</p><p>Steve Rogers, new to the 21st century but not new to the dragon-bonding scene, thought it would be easier to connect with his own.</p><p>He was very, very wrong.</p><p>  <span class="small">Critical lore <em>will</em> be reestablished in this "Canon, But With Dragons" 'verse, but if you're into continuity, please read "(By Any Other) Name" first.</span></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>For the Love of a Dragon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092083</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Roses Have Thorns (They Say)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome back, friends!</p><p>This 'verse wouldn't leave me alone. I think 8,000 words is a magical number for me. I've got at least two more installments in mind.</p><p>Drop a penny with your thoughts or stay tuned for more!</p><p>Heehaw,<br/>Captain Panda</p><p>P.S. Why yes, the title is from a certain song. No, the song doesn't have anything to do with the story, but the quote was irresistible.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Good news: the two-foot-long spikes on Snow’s head weren’t inherently lethal.</p><p>Bad news: they still hurt like a son of a bitch.</p><p>Steve gripped the hole in his right shoulder, blowing out a hard breath.  Remorseless black eyes watched him, a serpentine tongue flicking out to taste the air.  “Good girl,” Steve told her.  “Good—girl.”</p><p>Steve could admit that he didn’t have a gift for animals: he’d been kicked by mules, bit by horses, taloned by raptors, and chewed on by nearly every critter with teeth.  Few things compared to being <em>stabbed</em>, but he’d once been dangled over a small ravine by one bear-trapped foot—he had plenty of negative life experiences to choose from.</p><p>He could definitively state being stabbed by Snow was in his top ten least favorite experiences.</p><p>“All right,” he managed, holding the hole in his shoulder and kicking the dropped brush across the room.  “No brush.”</p><p>Snow followed the movement, bristling visibly, every spine on her back rising to a half-mast position as she growled at it.  “No brush,” Steve repeated.  “I hear ya.”  Snow took matters into her own jaws, snapping up the brush, chewing it to pieces, and swallowing it.  She gave a close-mouthed hiccup; oily steam vented from her nostrils.</p><p>Steve said, “That’s probably fine.”</p>
<hr/><p>Marker didn’t exactly roll over for a belly rub, but he tolerated the brush better than his larger, snow-white counterpart. </p><p>“I don’t get it,” Steve admitted, newly-bandaged shoulder throbbing but, given that it had had a chunk of flesh violently rendered from it, in overall good spirits.</p><p>“I have a gift for animals,” Tony replied, scrubbing Marker’s hide, removing golden shed from his armored scales.  Marker stood still for him, emitting a constant series of close-mouthed clicks and subvocal growls, to which Tony responded with dry remarks about his tired arms and unappreciated work.  The dragon offered no sympathy, only turning around to encourage Tony to scrub his opposing size.</p><p>It helped that Marker was “only” the size of a draft horse, large enough to create problems but not so large he couldn’t be gently coerced. </p><p>Snow could rebuff a tank.</p><p>Worse, Snow had <em>horns</em>.  Two huge, straight-lined projections jutting from her forehead, useful for driving off unwanted advances.  Marker’s comparatively flat brow had two smooth studs, useful for butting heads with other males.  It seemed very fair, Steve thought: in Snow’s world, Snow was queen, and she had the crown to prove it. </p><p>Clearly, Steve thought, watching Tony and Marker from a healthy distance, he was the fool, here.</p>
<hr/><p>Snow used his bed as a backscratcher, which was fine, except it rendered the bed useless to Steve, who would rather lie on a bed of nails before he dozed on the jagged dead scales.  He didn’t mind her taking the initiative—it wasn’t <em>unheard of</em> for feral dragons to bunk with humans, essentially using their accommodations without indulging in any of their potential spoils—but he did mind the thought that he wasn’t being a very good companion.</p><p>He wanted to be a good companion.  Not just for his own selfishness, no—but because she’d <em>chosen </em>him.  She’d been the length of his arm when he’d first found her in the snowy woods, seventy years ago, and he couldn’t bear the thought that he was disappointing her.  He’d rather lop off his own arm than let her starve, in any way.  For affection, for food—or for grooming.</p><p>He was clearly failing, he thought mournfully, as Snow continued to scrape her chin against his wooden floor, creating a snowy landmine for unwary feet.</p><p>Marker adored Tony.  He often lowed mournfully if Tony was gone for more than a few hours.  The calling didn’t bother Steve, that much, really—he’d dealt with noisier encampments, bombarded by literal bombardments—but unlike the average fellow, Steve could actually <em>hear </em>them.  By night three, he found himself bribing Marker with whole lambs just to get a couple hours of shut-eye.</p><p>Marker <em>adored </em>Tony. </p><p>Snow tolerated Steve.  That was actually quite good, given Steve’s record with animals—and he loved her tolerance, loved the moments she let him sit next to her big warm side and read for a little while—but he wanted more <em>for her</em>.  She deserved the best, not a smooth wood floor to scrape her neck against.</p>
<hr/><p>It was a fairly inspired idea, actually—humans bathed, birds bathed, and dragons shared qualities with both.  Steve didn’t know anything about the associative property of mathematics, but he knew a good idea when he saw it.</p><p>He thought he knew a good idea, he reflected morosely, as Snow sniffed at the tub, then tilted her head sideways to avoid spearing her horns through the bottom, and promptly gulped down a huge mouthful.  It seemed a little bizarre, but he didn’t have time to wonder why no one mentioned tame dragons needing troughs before she turned and sprayed him with water.</p><p>It was on the steamy dragon gullet side of warm, but not quite hot enough to burn.  “All right,” he said, sighing as she promptly ducked her head and refilled her massive maw, draining the tub.  He steeled himself as she turned and doused him a second time.  When she paused to stare at him, black eyes very intent, he asked grimly, “You done?”</p><p>She blinked once at him, then lowered her head to the floor and chortled.  From six floors down, Steve heard a distinct echo.  Sighing, he opened the drain on the tub, announcing, “I probably deserved that.”</p>
<hr/><p>Grooming—or, rather, attempting to groom—Snow became something of an adventure in fast reflexes.</p><p>He tried a soft-haired brush, even though he doubted it would do much of anything.  Snow promptly spat on him.  She had the good grace not to actually set him on fire, but being covered in oily spit was still a pointed reminder that she <em>could</em>, at any moment her dragon heart desired.</p><p>He tried a blanket, and he scarcely opened it to show her what it was before she lit <em>that </em>on fire, gulping down the flaming mess before Steve could do more than drop it.</p><p>He even tried a shovel.  He refused to get near her with a knife, and he had a feeling it was a stretch before he even let her sniff it, but he wanted to try.  To his surprise, she promptly sat down, spines flattening across her back, and he thought he was somehow, miraculously, getting somewhere, just before she took the shovel in her jaws, pinned the head down with one paw, and snapped its neck.</p><p>Well, he thought grimly, as she gnawed at it, contented purrs rolling off her, if you couldn’t give a dragon a bath, at least you could give it a <em>bone</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Out of curiosity, he bought Marker a shovel.</p><p>Marker stiffened, immediately slinking to his full impressive height, warning black splashing across his golden chest, before suddenly snatching up the shovel.  He clipped Steve with the handle in passing, but Steve managed to duck out of reach before Marker began shaking the shovel within an inch of its life.  Then he, too, snapped its neck with a self-satisfied growl.</p><p>“That’s a good thing to teach,” Tony acknowledged, as Marker stripped the wood, growling all the while.  “You know, because they don’t eat people.”  He chucked a meat slab at Marker, who dropped the splintered remains of the shovel long enough to hawk it down, then slapped a paw over the remains of the shovel.  “Good boy,” Tony told Marker anyway, taking a seat at his preferred desk.  “You killed the snake.”</p>
<hr/><p>Well, Steve thought, as he presented Snow a wheelbarrow, if he couldn’t groom her, at least he could entertain her.</p><p>Snow made a show of standing up.  In the closed quarters of his room—<em>her </em>den, really—there wasn’t really room for it, but she bristled anyway, spikes elevated and eyes fixed on the new device.  Then she fixed him with her black, soul-stealing glare, like she couldn’t believe he’d brought it into her sacred space.  “Wheelbarrow,” he told her.</p><p>She stared silently at him, then, with only a flickering glance at the wheelbarrow, leveled her horns meaningfully at him.</p><p>He had the good grace to receive the message before she followed through with the threat, backing out of the room, wheelbarrow in tow.</p><p>Marker actually liked it—he knocked it around for a few moments, which did a tremendous amount of damage to Tony’s normally immaculate lab, before pouncing on it and sitting on the wreckage with the smuggest dragon look Steve had ever seen.  Still sitting in the flattened barrel, Marker lowered his neck to rub it against the floor, warbling triumphantly.</p><p>Standing in the doorway some time later, Tony popped another potato chip into his mouth, surveyed the damage, and said simply, “Leaving you two alone is … <em>not </em>an option.”</p>
<hr/><p>Snow let him touch her—occasionally; unlike Marker, a multigenerational dragon who thrived on the frequent contact Tony gave him. </p><p>Despite being bonded, Snow had spent seventy years—a not-insubstantial portion of her multi-millennial lifespan—searching the arctic for Steve.  She’d probably grown very used to no contact, with only warm, bloody mammal fur to interrupt long stretches of nothing but ice beneath her claws.  That she let him near her at all was a gift.  He didn’t take it for granted.</p><p>So, on one auspicious afternoon when she was feeling generous enough to let him rub her neck, Steve tried sifting out the scales by hand.  She didn’t immediately bolt or skewer him, which was a good start, but he’d neglected to account for all those pesky sharp edges when he started looking for the shed, refusing to break away and fetch a pair of gloves.  He had no idea how she would react to them, and he didn’t want to risk losing his window, anyway.</p><p>It didn’t matter.  As soon as he tried tugging at a hanging scale, she clicked at him, sharp and warning, and he smoothed over the hide instead.  She shouldered him away anyway, tail flicking once in mistrust, and flopped down on his bed.  He gave her space.</p>
<hr/><p>“Don’t look so happy to see me.”</p><p>“I am happy to see you,” Steve said morosely, looking over the files on Tony’s desk while Marker lounged nearby, chewing on a cow bone noisily.</p><p>“You can’t even see me,” Tony said.</p><p>“I can see you,” Steve dismissed, dragon talk.  He didn’t look up from the board.</p><p>Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, resting his chin on Steve’s head.  “She loves you.”</p><p>Steve sighed, dismissing the holograms.  He reached up to squeeze Tony’s arm gently.  “I should let her go.”</p><p>Tony went stiff.  “I don’t think that’s how it works,” he said.</p><p>Everyone knew dragons chose their companions.  Many were multigenerational—they stayed with the same family for centuries.  But then, at some arbitrary footfall, the dragons left.  Overall, humans had little say in the relationship: they could accept the invitation, or they could meet the dragon’s kindness with violence.  They did not decide when the partnership ended.</p><p>“I would never hurt her,” Steve said, quietly hurt at the implication.</p><p>“I wasn’t saying that,” Tony said, a little too quickly.  Even Marker warbled curiously, detecting the shift in tone.  “I guess my question is, <em>why</em>?”</p><p>Steve released his arm, turning away, standing.  “Steve?” Tony pushed.  Marker clicked at him, short, sharp clicks.  Agitated.</p><p>“I’m just gonna take a walk,” Steve assured, keeping his back to man and dragon as he walked towards the door.  “Clear my head.”</p><p>The lab doors shut silently behind him.  He could still hear Tony utter in an undertone, “He’s a strange one, isn’t he?” to Marker.  Marker click-clicked back.</p>
<hr/><p>Life … went on.</p><p>Snow continued to disappear for short periods of time, returning with pristine white scales and dripping red teeth.  Her black gaze would fix upon him, like she expected him to say something.  Then she would move on, like it didn’t matter, anyway.</p><p>He kept himself busy with S.H.I.E.L.D.—there was so much to <em>do </em>with S.H.I.E.L.D.—but he longed, some nights, for his dragon.  For her to call out to him across the great distance, inquiring, wondering.  It was as if she had found all the closure she needed.  They weren’t companions; they were simply two spirits inhabiting the same space.</p><p>“I don’t think Terror was capable of love,” Bruce confided in him, one miserably broody night.  They weren’t dragons—they didn’t have time to <em>brood</em>—but they did, anyway, sitting with their tea in the Tower’s balcony room, chatting well after midnight.  “I think she was … capable of happiness, maybe.  And that was good.  That was good,” he insisted, almost to himself.</p><p>Bruce had lost his dragon years ago.  Mere months after her departure, he’d become the monster he always feared.</p><p>“I just want her to be happy,” Bruce admitted, unexpectedly open.  Steve did not look at him.  “It’s … a gift, to be chosen, once.”  <em>To love and lose</em>, he didn’t say.</p>
<hr/><p>Steve brought her food, because you had to keep your dragon fed.  It didn’t matter if they rejected the putrefying gift.  Appearances mattered; the bond had to be maintained, or it would decay.</p><p><em>What are you thinking?</em> he wondered at her, as she sheared off big, ugly slices of red meat from the deer carcass.  <em>What do you need?</em></p><p>She did not reply, warbling at such a low tone he could barely hear it, her gaze affixed on her meal.</p><p>Dragons were animals; exciting, invigorating, unexpected animals, but animals, nonetheless.  They could not speak to humans.  Not really.</p>
<hr/><p>One day, they went out flying—that is, Tony and Steve drove out into the boondocks of rural New York while Marker and Snow soared far overhead.  As the weather began to turn, storm clouds dumping rain on them, they closed the roof of the car, and Tony announced quite abruptly, “Marker wants to go back.”</p><p>Steve could hear it, too, the almost Morse code clicks, wondering who had taught it to him.  Howard, probably—when Marker was younger, and named Radon.</p><p>Every dragon who lived with a family long enough would be renamed.  Radon had been light yellow, like the sun, and youthful, less than half his present size, when he’d chosen Howard Stark as his companion.  Now, larger and moving out of his juvenile stage of explosive growth, Marker bore more golden scales, and his new name.</p><p>The marks of Howard were still there, though, as they drove home.  Steve didn’t ask about Snow—Snow was <em>his </em>dragon, after all—until they arrived at the Tower underground, made their way to the upper levels, and found themselves a dragon short.</p><p>Steve almost couldn’t breathe, so struck by the desolation of it.</p><p>Tony shouldered him companionably, insisting, “Just wants to stretch her wings.  It’s fine.”  He knuckled Radon—Marker’s forehead as the dragon approached him, butted his head against Tony’s chest fondly.  “Don’t worry about it,” he pressed Steve, like he was worrying about it.  “She’ll—”  He did not finish, not daring say the words.</p>
<hr/><p>Hours turned into days.  Snow did not return.</p>
<hr/><p>All humans had a call for their dragon, a sound that meant <em>come home</em>.  Steve had never devised one for Snow.  It was a stupid thing to overlook—usually, it was no more than a click or a whistle, an easily replicable noise that stood out from the ordinary—but he had overlooked it.</p><p>He cleared the dead shed away after the first week, careful not to cut his skin on the scales.  He washed the bed, made the sheets.  He continued sleeping on the couch, superstitious.</p>
<hr/><p>Days turned into weeks.</p>
<hr/><p>“Why don’t <em>we</em> have a dragon, Ma?”</p><p>“Dear, where would we keep it?”</p><p>“With us,” Stevie Rogers replied, six years old and undeterrable.  “Don’t you want a dragon?”</p><p>“I already have one,” Sarah Rogers said, ruffling his hair as she passed him.  “A very little one.  What would I do with two?”</p><p>“’m not a dragon,” Stevie replied, ducking out from under her hand.  “I can’t fly.”</p><p>“Can’t you?” Sarah answered, picking him up and spinning him around.  He laughed with delight.</p>
<hr/><p>He awoke in his own bed.  Alone.</p><p><em>I lost my dragon, Ma</em>, he thought, staring at the ceiling for a long moment, unsure what hour or day or even year it was.  <em>I lost her</em>.</p><p>It was a hard fact of life that there weren’t enough tame dragons to go around.  For every tame dragon willing to bond, nearly ten thousand humans hoped for a tiny miracle.  It was a brutally selective lottery.</p><p>But not all humans wanted a dragon companion.  Many saw them purely as adversaries.  Some had been tormented by their wild cousins; others had been disillusioned by their tame descendants.  One way or another, they chose to take a hard stance on dragons.  And since dragons never re-bonded with dragon-killers, the feedback loop led to barren zones, where almost no tame dragons existed.</p><p>New York was not one of them, but Steve hadn’t found Snow in the city; he’d found her in the snowy forests of Azzano, when she was small enough to carry.  He’d kept her warm and fed, basking in the impossible thing happening to him. </p><p>He’d known early on how double-edged the sword could be—even small, her horns were sharp enough to hurt, and female companion dragons were notoriously rare, compared to their smaller, less aggressive male counterparts—but he’d believed, in his heart, that the bond would last. </p><p>He’d known, even then, that his lifespan would likely be prodigious, and the thought of losing everyone around him to it had nearly crippled him.  Waking up in the future had been a nightmare come true.  Finding his dragon again had been one of the happiest moments of his life.</p><p>Losing her … there were no words.</p>
<hr/><p>Weeks … turned into months.</p>
<hr/><p>Winter arrived without his dragon.</p><p>Steve threw himself into his work.  He knew it was bad for him, but he couldn’t make himself go home.  He missed her like a missing limb, a constant, soul-deep longing.</p><p>There were voices to be heard, warning of the dangers of dragons as companions.  They weren’t called soul-stealers for a gimmick; more than one life had been lost after the post-bond melancholia descended.  Whole books had been written on the topic, on how to cope after one’s dragon departed, by whim—or death.</p><p>He felt physically ill, imagining her, dead and unknown.  Dying before one’s dragon was accepted as such a norm the alternative was scarcely considered.  Dragons did not allow humans to watch them die.</p><p>The thought that she had run away to die cut him deeper than he cared to dwell on.</p>
<hr/><p>Marker was bonded with Tony. </p><p>It was well-known that no dragon ever formed two bonds simultaneously.  After their human companion passed on, they did not even respond to their former name, like it was taboo to resurrect the soul of the relationship.</p><p>So, Steve took to watching Radon from a distance, watching Tony feed and groom and care for him.  The sound of it was comforting, a washboard rhythm that made him feel like something was right in the world.  It had the normalcy of Tony doing other mundane tasks, like polishing his cars, or brainstorming new suits. </p><p>At times, Tony would simply sit at the desk, silent and unmoving, daydreaming.  At others, he would be totally immersed in Stark Industries, unreachable but by force.  Steve knew when to leave him be, knew how close Marker would allow him before rebuffing him.</p><p>So, Steve sat at a lonely, longing distance from the two of them, watching the dragon breathe, occasionally clicking in his sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>“Don’t,” Tony warned Steve, breath tight, one hand still wrapped around the paw on his chest, back to the concrete floor.  Steve stood nearby, tensed and furious and holding his ground.  Marker looked down at Tony, eyes black as ever, unnervingly mute.  Slowly, Tony rubbed the side of Marker’s huge paw, not quite panic, not quite <em>not</em>. </p><p><em>You ever seen a dragon attack?  It’s ugly</em>, Clint had warned Steve, once.</p><p>Everyone had heard of them.  It could happen any day, without warning.  Dragons hunted humans.  Those who dared to befriend them would always, on some level, be prey, first.</p><p>Steve wouldn’t let those teeth near Tony, not on <em>his </em>life, but he trusted Tony’s bond enough to override the instinct screaming at him to act now or regret forever.</p><p>Suddenly, Marker shifted his paw aside.  There were holes in Tony’s shirt, visible red gouges on his skin.  Tony stayed where he was, sighing tensely as Marker laid his head flat on his chest.  “You’re getting too big for this,” he huffed, but he rubbed the dragon’s head with both hands, eliciting a deep hum.  “Goddamn teddy bear.”</p><p>Steve forced himself to stay put, not daring to step forward and suddenly escalate the encounter, step back and refocus it.  On his own time, Marker lifted his head, allowing Tony to crawl to his feet.  He was a little unsteady, and Marker nudged his head firmly against Tony’s chest, nearly knocking him over again, but Steve planted his feet, and Tony reclaimed his own.</p><p>“That’s my good boy,” Tony told Marker, patting his snout, surreptitiously wrapping an arm around his own stomach.  “That’s my good boy,” he insisted, giving Marker a gentle shove back that did nothing.  Still holding Marker’s head, Tony turned to Steve, said, “Go,” and Steve didn’t want to, his heart beating fast, his mind jumping to every horror story he’d ever heard of “tame” dragons taking fate into their own hands, but he had to trust Tony.</p><p>He left.</p>
<hr/><p>“He’s young,” Tony sighed, replacing his shirt with a grimace, sliding off the gurney.  Steve slid under his arm, propping him up.  He said nothing, unwilling to blame Marker, unable to correct Tony.  “He still thinks I’m as tough as he is,” Tony added with a self-deprecating grimace.  “It’s cute, really.”</p><p>Steve thought about Howard rough-housing with a younger Radon, pushing the donkey-sized animal around.  Radon had been easy to handle; Marker wasn’t.</p><p>“Let me talk to him,” Steve said, after he’d half-carried, half-dragged Tony out of the medical wing.</p><p>Stitched and concussed and still on his feet, Tony rasped, “Absolutely not.”</p>
<hr/><p>If it was a one-off incident, Steve could have brushed it off.</p><p>It wasn’t a one-off incident.</p>
<hr/><p>Marker didn’t understand how fragile his human was. </p><p>He didn’t understand what would happen when he bucked his head against Tony’s side, cracking two ribs in a moment of reptilian levity.  Tony refused to leave Marker’s side until he’d hugged his snout, called him <em>good</em>, while Steve gripped the doorway and saw <em>red</em>.  Barely able to walk upright, his face lined with pain, Tony still insisted on feeding him, feeding the monster.</p><p>Less than a week later, with what could only be described as intention, Marker grabbed Tony by the leg, his shining maw slightly open and issuing a noise that sounded like death.  Tony told him seriously, “Let go,” and Marker dragged Tony off his chair.</p><p>Steve, who refused to leave them alone, was on his feet in an instant.  Marker ignored him, releasing Tony.</p><p>Tony took a long moment to right himself.  Marker let him get to his feet, and rammed forward.</p><p>Steve couldn’t catch Tony, but he caught Marker’s head, wrapping both arms around it, and, with a ferocity that burned deeper than his own breath, drove the dragon back three full paces.  Marker shook his head furiously, growling in warning, but Steve snarled back, “I’m getting <em>real</em> fucking tired of you.”</p><p>Marker opened his mouth, black eyes fixed on him, and for one breath, Steve thought it would be the last thing he ever saw.  Dragons were quick, unpredictable, incredibly dexterous.  What they could do to people was hard to contemplate.  The only comfort was that it was would be quick.</p><p>Then Marker stepped back, head sinking towards the floor.  He blew out a breath like a bull.  Steve stepped into his personal space.  Tony said, “Don’t,” and Marker growled at Steve.  “Don’t hurt him,” Tony insisted.</p><p>Steve could probably kill Marker, he was so mad, white-knuckled fists at his side.  Marker’s entire chest was black with anger, swelling as he drew in a breath.  Steve waited until Marker’s jaw eased open again before darting forward, grabbing a pointed fang, and holding it.  Marker hissed in anger.  Steve dragged the dragon to the floor, and Marker’s tail whiplashed behind him, refusing to lose a tooth, refusing to go gently.</p><p>Steve growled, “You’re not that tough,” and released Marker.  He stepped back, disgusted, unable to be nearer to the dragon than he needed to be.  Marker stared at him, a high-pitched warble in his chest, head low, prepared to strike.  Steve stood his ground, refusing to be budged, and caught Marker’s huge head in both hands when he charged, crushing him in place, letting him feel the weight of Steve’s anger, before forcing the dragon back a single half-step.</p><p>It was enough.  Marker abruptly shook his head, freeing it, and retreated to his corner, flopping down like a moody teenager.</p><p>Tony said, “Now you’ve done it,” but he didn’t sound angry.</p><p>Steve stared Marker down until the dragon looked away, then said, “You wanna stay here?  You fucking act like it.”  Marker didn’t look at him, but Steve stepped right up to him, ordering, “I don’t got any room in my fucking heart for anybody that hurts my guy, and that includes his goddamn dragon.”  Marker shifted to look right at him, black eyes huge, soul-stealing.  Steve stared right at him and said firmly, “I don’t care how tough you think you are.  You don’t hurt him.”</p><p>Marker rubbed his chin on the floor, back and forth.  The darkness had melted out of his chest, leaving golden scales behind.  He looked like he’d forgotten the whole argument, eyes closed, the picture of contentment.</p><p>But when he stood up, shook off once, and looked down at Steve, there was understanding in the silence.</p><p>“We’re a pack or we’re nothing,” he told Marker.  “Got that?”</p><p>Marker pushed his flat-horned head against Steve’s chest, oddly gentle.  Steve waited until he retreated before saying simply, “That’s better.”</p>
<hr/><p>Watching Tony groom Marker was strangely peaceful.</p><p>Tony was always very fastidious about it.  He took pride in his work. </p><p>After some time had passed, Tony acknowledged: “This must be pretty boring for you.”</p><p>Steve, who sat on a bench watching him, answered simply, “Kind of magical.”</p><p>Tony looked at him, briefly.  Marker clicked at him, but Tony ignored him a moment longer, just looking at Steve.  “Kind of is, isn’t it?” he mused, returning to his work.</p>
<hr/><p>There was peace to be found, sitting in Tony’s car, staring up at a starry sky as Marker soared high above them.</p><p>And there was longing.</p><p>Tony squeezed his hand comfortingly, but Steve could not look at him, waiting, watching for her.</p>
<hr/><p>Steve stood on the balcony, silent, unable to think of a single thing to say to the night.</p><p><em>You’re coming home to me</em>, he thought, willing it, wanting it, believing in it completely.  <em>You’re coming home to me.  Aren’t you?</em></p>
<hr/><p>They said dragons couldn’t talk to humans.  As far as Steve knew, this was exactly true.  Dragons never talked to him.  Dragons never talked to anyone.</p><p>But there were moments when he swore he could hear the memories, looking right at Marker’s soulless black eyes, like the dragon had kept the foregone soul of his companion alive. </p><p><em>We are kings, you and I, </em>Howard Stark said, only to shatter a bottle on Radon’s snout.  <em>Hopelessly bereft of kingdom.</em></p><p>Laying a hand on the golden snout, almost surprised to find himself close enough to do so, Steve stroked over the scales, once.  Marker twisted his head away, a warning warble in his chest, but he didn’t shove Steve aside or storm off.</p><p>“Good boy,” Steve said.</p><p>Marker clicked at him several times, then stalked off.</p>
<hr/><p>When six months came and went, Steve knew he should resign himself to the inevitable.</p><p>He couldn’t.</p>
<hr/><p>“I don’t wanna go,” Tony sighed, fussing with his tie for the umpteenth time.  “Can’t stand ‘em, can’t—”</p><p>Steve smoothed Tony’s tie back into place, reminding gently, “You want it to hang over your head forever?”</p><p>Tony scowled at him, then sighed and kissed his cheek.  “I will miss you.  And him.”</p><p>“I know.”  Steve did.  He’d tried to get a good night’s sleep the night before, well aware of how despondent Marker would be once he realized his human wasn’t coming home in a few hours.  He’d managed exactly one hour before returning to the balcony, waiting for Snow to come home.  “It’ll be okay.”</p><p>“You two play nice,” Tony said, patting Steve’s cheek, playfully patronizing.  “I don’t want any fuss.  Or muss.”  He pointed at Marker, who was lounging on his blankets, happily eating a whole lamb.  “That goes double for you, mister.”  Then he stepped up to his dragon, more than five times his size, and kissed him on the brow.  “So long and thanks for all the fish, folks,” he said.</p><p>And then he was gone, too.</p>
<hr/><p>Just for a week. </p><p>He had back-to-back meetings in Europe—nothing Tony could easily smuggle a dragon through.  People knew Howard Stark’s dragon was alive, and some even knew that Tony Stark had inherited it, but it was such a taboo topic that most journalists didn’t even touch on it.  Their human writers feared repercussions regarding their own future bonding opportunities.</p><p>Only those who had loved and lost and had nothing left to lose could besmirch the reputations of those who concealed their dragons, and even they were often in mourning or wanted nothing to do with dragons. </p><p>In sum: everyone knew Tony Stark had had a dragon, at some point, and many suspected he still had one, but nobody talked about it, because he never brought it up.</p><p>Steve whiled away the hours with Marker, filing reports in the comfort of Tony’s lab, Marker’s lair.  Dragons lived on a timescale that humans could scarcely imagine; the passing of decades was like days on a calendar to them.  A week was nothing, and yet, within seven hours of Tony’s departure, Marker started calling out, sonorous, low, meant-to-carry sounds.</p><p>“<em>How are my best boys</em>?” Tony asked wearily that night.</p><p>Steve trained the camera on Marker.  Marker paused, then rumbled again at the same pitch as before.  “<em>I miss you, too, bud</em>,” Tony said from the other side of the screen.  The sound of his voice intensified both the depth and volume of Marker’s cries.  “<em>I’ll be home before you know it</em>,” Tony assured, as his dragon nearly talked over him.  “<em>Just sit tight and … be good.  You’re always good.  Aren’t you?</em>”  He talked to Marker for a while, Steve dutifully holding the camera in place.  Then he said, “<em>Hey, Steve?</em>” and Steve shifted the lens so he could see Tony.  “<em>Hi</em>.”</p><p>Steve’s heart thawed a little.  “Hi.”</p><p>“<em>I’m very tired</em>,” Tony admitted.  “<em>It’s very late</em>.”</p><p>“You should go to bed,” Steve said.</p><p>“<em>I should</em>,” Tony agreed, while Marker continued to call out for him.  “<em>He’s such a prick</em>,” he said affectionately.</p><p>“You have no idea,” Steve replied, well aware that he had five more days of incessant whining to survive.  “Get some rest.”</p><p>“<em>Oh, no, I can’t</em>,” Tony sighed.  “<em>You know me.  Have to tinker for a bit.  Then it’s sunrise again.  Where do the hours go?</em>”</p><p>“Wasting away,” Steve said, thinking of an hourglass.</p><p>“<em>Your gift for the morbid is unparalleled, dear</em>,” Tony replied.</p><p>“S’not morbid, Tony, it’s just the truth,” Steve said, wincing as Marker dropped the pitch of his intonations.  “Hell, that’s a headache.”</p><p>“<em>Aww.  A very sweet headache</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t think headaches <em>can </em>be sweet,” Steve said, one eye half-shut against the sound of it.  Tony seemed unaffected, thankfully; he also had the benefit of being on a different continent.  “How was your flight?”</p><p>“<em>Gosh.  Boring.  Lonely.  I’m in some of the most beautiful cities on Earth and I’ve got nobody to share this with</em>.”  He wagged a bottle of wine with a tragic sigh.</p><p>Steve said, “Don’t have too much fun all at once.”</p><p>“<em>Gotta live while we’re young</em>,” Tony replied.  “<em>My arm’s tired.  Here.  Look at this</em>.”  He set the phone flat on a table, showing off the ceiling.  It was very ornate.  “<em>Isn’t it pretty?  Almost as pretty as you.</em>”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve chided without heat, glad Tony couldn’t see him, anymore.  A little more openly than he intended, he admitted, “Wish I was there.”</p><p>“<em>Aw.  You just hate babysitting.</em>”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Steve said.</p><p>“<em>Admit it</em>.”</p><p>“I love you,” Steve said.</p><p>Tony said, “<em>You’re a dork, Steve Rogers.</em>” </p><p>Steve didn’t need to see it to hear his smile.</p>
<hr/><p>Steve was halfway to an exhausted sleep when Marker’s incessant lowing suddenly ceased.  Several floors below, he heard the soft clicks, the pause, and then, overlapping—</p><p>He was out of bed in an instant, racing down the hall, crashing down the stairs.  His heart was too big for his chest as he surged into the lab, as he set eyes on—</p><p>A jet-blue dragon, sniffing at Marker, clicking continuously.  Her horns were unmistakable, her entire stance belying more than curiosity—<em>intent</em>.</p><p>That … wasn’t <em>Snow</em>.</p><p>Steve cautioned aloud, “Marker,” while the big male dragon lumbered forward, head loud, curious.  “Marker, don’t.”</p><p>Terror opened her maw and screamed suddenly.</p><p>Head splitting with the force of it, Steve bowed over his ears.  He didn’t see the first strike, but he caught sight of Marker using his tail to deter a second hit.  There was blood on the floor—just specks, bloody splatters, nothing arterial, nothing deadly, but Tony would die if his dragon did.</p><p>Terror charged and Marker snapped at her neck.  Steve managed, “Marker, <em>no</em>!”</p><p>It was all over in seconds.</p><p>Bright red splatters on the floor.  Deep, nasty wheezing.  One dragon lying on its side, legs kicking feebly, the other looming over it, growling.  Clicking.  Slowly, subsiding.  A nose pushed against the broken neck, and Terror screamed like her namesake, cowed.</p><p>Steve said, “God,” out loud, like it would conjure up the force of life needed.</p><p>He didn’t snap at the heavy hands that shoved him aside, nor did he call after Bruce as he ran across the room, crouching in front of his dragon.  Marker seethed at him and he roared back, an inhuman sound, and Marker promptly skittered over to Steve, knocking him over in his terror, bloody maw smearing over Steve’s side.</p><p>Steve slowly sat up, looking as Bruce—stoic, sweet, so-often-silent Bruce—wept in unabashed agony over his dying dragon.</p><p>Laying a hand on Marker’s snout, Steve managed, “She—we can—”</p><p>Bruce didn’t hear him, sobbing, screaming, adding his voice where Terror’s had gone thin and helpless.</p><p>He could feel the weight of Marker’s emotion, agitation, uncertainty, pushing on him, his heavy snout shoving at him until Steve shoved Marker back.  “We should—” he said, stepping forward.</p><p>Bruce screamed again, louder, less human, and Steve said, “<em>Shit</em>,” just before the Hulk burst into being.</p><p>He honestly feared what would happen, as the monster crouched over the twitching, comparatively small blue dragon.  “O-kay,” the Hulk said, with some extraordinary effort, like a very young child learning the word.  “O-kay,” he repeated, huge hands lifting the beast.  She didn’t struggle against him, mouth gaped open, her gasping breaths so loud in the sudden silence.</p><p>Marker clicked anxiously, so fast and high-pitched the sound seemed to overlap.  From behind him, Steve heard Clint’s, Natasha’s voices.</p><p>It all began to fuzz out, until all he could see was the Hulk, huge and deadly, crouched over the little blue dragon, holding her in both hands.  “O-kay,” he repeated, hugging her.</p>
<hr/><p>Terror died at sunrise.</p>
<hr/><p>“I came as soon as I—” Tony cut himself off, flinging both arms around Marker’s head, sobbing once like he couldn’t help it.  “Sweet boy.  Sweet boy,” he said, like he didn’t know what else to say.  “Come here, come here, I’m here, I’ll never leave you,” he promised, pressing his forehead against the dragon’s cheek while Marker clicked and rumbled and greeted him gently.  The scales on his chest were dented where Terror’s horns had gouged him, but his longer neck and snapping jaws had won the match.</p><p>“Good boy,” Tony said, pulling away but not pulling himself together, eyes red and breath noisy.  “Good—good boy.”</p><p>Steve stood silently nearby, watching the two.  Even when Tony turned to him, anguish and exhaustion and something like poison in his eyes, Steve couldn’t muster up a single word of comfort.  Consolation.  <em>It happened so fast</em>, he thought.  <em>I didn’t know what to do</em>.</p><p>The Hulk had disappeared.  Steve didn’t know where or what he would do, never mind how people would react if they saw him with the dragon’s body.</p><p>Tony finally managed, “Please show me,” and Steve just shook his head, crushing down the part of him that wanted to weep.</p>
<hr/><p>“You should eat.”</p><p>Steve didn’t look up from his hands, picturing blood on them, a knife in them, like he’d been the one to cut her throat open.  She’d been small—about the same size as Radon, and he rubbed his trembling mouth, because he didn’t want to cry.  He wasn’t even sure he would cry for <em>her</em>, and that was the most terrible thing about it.</p><p>Clint pushed a peanut butter sandwich in front of him.  “It’s part of growing up, kid,” he said, gruffly.  “All part of—”</p><p>Steve picked up the plate and shattered it against the table, letting Clint make of that what he would.  When Clint didn’t even flinch, he picked up the sandwich and took a bite.  Tears slipped down his face.  He felt young, and stupid, and helpless, like he’d done nothing to save her.</p><p>He’d done nothing to save her.</p><p>He’d just watched.</p>
<hr/><p>Marker mourned.</p><p>At first, Steve thought he was stupid, and still calling out for Tony, but then he noticed the longer, more guttural, dragging quality of each cry.</p><p>Steve couldn’t take it.</p><p>“I have to go,” he told Tony, who was sitting in a side room he rarely used, his work in front of him, his eyes red, from the bottle or from the insomnia or from the grief, Steve didn’t know.</p><p>“For how long?” he asked, pseudo-brightly, pseudo-normally.</p><p>“A while,” was all Steve said.</p><p>Tony smiled a little.  It was heartbreaking.  “Write, won’t you?” was all he could say, directing his gaze back to the tablet in front of him.</p><p>It was saying something that even he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Marker.</p>
<hr/><p>Somehow, in his heart, he’d known all along where he would find her.</p><p>Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in soft imitation, he saw the white shadow curled up around the stone monument slowly unfold, turning to look at him with familiar black eyes.  He repeated the clicking sound, three short bursts, and then, to his surprise, received an echo of it, two long, two short.  It wasn’t Morse code, but there was something there, something he might someday understand.</p><p>“Hi,” he told her.  He clicked once; she clicked back sharply, tossing her head, shaking off a light dusting of snow.  He staggered across the space, not caring if she impaled him, if she rejected him, if she—</p><p>Hummed, tucking her heavy head over his shoulder, horns safely out of reach.  He clung to her throat, holding her, freezing and shaking with emotion, with the realization that she was <em>okay</em>.</p><p>“Oh, God, I missed you,” he told her.  She rumbled back, too low to hear but palpable.  “I won’t leave you,” he promised, squeezing tightly and still nowhere strong enough to break her.  She was unbreakable—even his superhuman strength paled next to an adult dragon’s.  “I’m so sorry,” he said, swallowing valiantly against further emotion.  “I should’ve—”</p><p>She clicked in quiet succession, letting him cling in a way she never did, then turned abruptly and rubbed her neck on the snow vigorously, smearing all evidence of his presence.  He couldn’t help a sad little chuckle.  “I don’t know what you need,” he told her.  “But I’ll try.  I’ll try.”</p>
<hr/><p>For a month—maybe longer, he wouldn’t know until he returned—they roamed the glacier.</p><p>She was rarely within striking distance.  She preferred to glide on a stiff wind high above, or trot ahead in pursuit of a seal colony that could be ten miles away.  She rarely so much as looked at him, but he heard her, listened constantly for her, and felt perfectly at home in the emptiness, confident he wouldn’t be left to starve and die alone on a glacier.</p><p>The darkness was nearly absolute, but nearly was not perfect, and her gleaming, snow-white scales showed up easily when he looked for them.</p><p>He cupped his hands and howled at times, just to elicit a far more impressive growl from his dragon, some distance away.  He felt feral, following her under the cover of polar darkness in Greenland, far, far away from home.</p><p>When she made a kill, she dragged it back for them, spitting oil on fur to ignite it, charring the meat underneath it before ripping off an impatient strip.  She took better care of him than he could hope to reciprocate, curling warm around him when she tired, guiding him when she awoke. </p><p>She only stabbed him once, seemingly on accident, uttering a single deep click that was borderline apologetic as he compressed the new wound on his shoulder, shaking his head and assuring, “S’okay.  Good girl.”</p><p>He’d die for her, gruesomely, in an absolute heartbeat.  He loved her that much.</p>
<hr/><p>No one had ever ridden a dragon.  It was not merely rare; it was unheard of.  Practically taboo—despite their firm status as <em>animals</em>, they were clearly accepted by society as something <em>more</em>.  Anyone who had come within striking distance of one had fantasized about it, about climbing above the clouds on the back of a living titan, but nobody had ever <em>done it</em>.</p><p>But one dark morning, Snow turned her head to look at him, her horns incredibly sharp, extraordinarily lethal, and waited patiently, and in perfect silence, until he rose and, when she turned her head just the slightest bit inward, indicating her flat-spiked back, he gripped it with a steady hand.  He still lingered a moment, the cold stinging the unbearded parts of his face, but she looked at him steadily, radiating unconcern.</p><p>Everyone knew riding dragons was impossible.  A fantasy at best—a tragedy at worst.  She stayed belly-down on the ice, waiting, and he—by God, he pulled himself up, gripping a flattened spine for support.</p><p>For a moment, he thought, <em>Here lies Steve Rogers, the fool who tried to ride a dragon</em>.  She let him saddle, heartbeat a blur in his chest as he wrapped both hands around a spine that suddenly arched, muscles coiling as she rolled to her feet.  He gripped with his legs and held that spine for his life.  Scarcely inches behind him was another spike, ready to impale if he fell back.  She shook her head out, clearing the snow, and crouched low to the ground.</p><p>Then she leaped into the sky.</p>
<hr/><p>The grandiose roll of her shoulders, the loaded power behind her huge wings, the unbelievable giddiness of <em>free altitude</em>—</p><p>There were no words.  Except maybe <em>ecstasy</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Traveling became a non-issue. </p><p>He didn’t know how long they flew—at some point, he thought an entire day had passed as they glided effortlessly above huge planes of ice—but he recognized the shift in temperature as they crossed open water immediately.  He clung to her spike, cold and sure he would fall if she wanted him to.</p><p>She never faltered, and even on the blistering ocean winds, she flew surprisingly steadily, drifting up, swooping low.  He thought to her, <em>You are a beautiful animal</em>, and had no voice to give it, silent, still, lithified, mesmerized.</p><p>They drifted over open water for a very long time.</p>
<hr/><p>On the icy shore, many hours later, they landed. </p><p>Half-asleep, barely clinging to his spine, Steve jolted to full awareness as Snow alighted on the ground, digging her claws in deep.  Then she pried them from the ice, flattened herself, and exhaled deeply.</p><p>Steve meant to dismount more gracefully, but he mostly just tumbled off her side, landing hard on his shoulder.  It hurt a lot, but he was numb to the pain, crawling towards her side and huddling there, in her glorious warmth.</p><p>Together, they rested for a short time.</p>
<hr/><p>Compared to the north, the distant city lights felt crowded in a way Steve was not prepared for as they glided towards them.  Snow trumpeted occasionally, a low-pitched sound that seemed to echo across the rolling hills below them.  Then an answering trumpet ricocheted back at them, loud and a lot closer than Steve expected.</p><p>In the air, at night, Marker was like a star come alive.  He flew towards them at a breathtaking clip, soaring overhead so close Steve could have reached out and touched him.  He was gone in an instant, rolling underneath them.  Snow clicked at him, and Marker clicked back, diving lower, creating airspace.  Then he swooped ahead, trumpeting in triumph.</p><p>Steve watched him, stroking Snow’s scaly shoulder absentmindedly.  After a few more wingbeats, she descended.</p><p>Steve slid off her shoulder when she landed, legs unsteady, crashing to his knees.  She shook out her wings once, then tucked them against her sides, looking at him with such open inquisition he wanted to laugh.  He didn’t have the breath, seated on his knees, breathing for a few moments.</p><p>He heard the footsteps, then, an unsteady, “Steve?” that pushed him to his feet.  He stepped around Snow and there—gaunt, wide-eyed, and rumpled—was Tony Stark.</p><p>“Stop me if I’m mistaken,” Tony rasped, voice deep with sleep but eyes so sleepless, “was that <em>you</em>?”  He pointed meaningfully upwards.</p><p>Steve stepped up to him, curled both arms around him, and <em>leaned</em>.  It was barely a hug, but Tony mirrored him, and they found equilibrium between them, holding steady.</p><p>“Oh, God,” Tony whispered, clinging to him, thinner than Steve remembered, his hold more desperate than secure.  “I missed you.”</p><p>Steve felt a lump in his throat, because Tony had suffered while he was away, one with his dragon.  “I’m here, now,” he promised, and meant it.</p><p>Tony clung to him, in wordless, profound relief.</p>
<hr/><p>There was a line between tame and feral dragons.  It was about as clear as the line between day and night.</p><p>Frankly, Steve understood <em>that</em> demarcation better than the one between feral and tame.  He flicked off lights as they entered the garage, tensing unhappily, all over, at being back in the city.  The open air had been healing.  He missed the emptiness, the loneliness of the ice.  He couldn’t shake the overcrowded, boxed-in feeling as Tony led the way to his—new and improved lab.</p><p>It wasn’t the same—most of the gadgets had not made the journey, so it resembled a newly-opened art studio more than a professional laboratory—but Marker’s corner had been restored, blankets and all.  There was a lump in Steve’s throat as he was thrust back into the present moment, removed from his happy nowhere with his dragon, fully aware of what had transpired before he vanished.</p><p>Steve told Tony, honestly, that he was tired.  Tony looked tense and too tired to rest, but he led them up to their rooms, anyway.</p><p>Snow flicked her pointed tongue at the immaculate space Steve had left behind.  Almost immaculate—the bed was made, but not as neatly as Steve would have done it. </p><p>Snow shouldered her way inside the doorframe, rumbling idly.  She went straight to the bed, rubbed her neck against it, removing scales.  She was a lady; she needed no servants to assist her.  Steve stood back as she sniffed at the sheets, a low curious rumble in her voice, before setting herself carefully on top of them.  The king-sized bed looked tiny under her girth; she’d undergone another growth spurt.</p><p>She sat contentedly for a few moments, then violently bit a chunk out of the mattress.  For a few voracious moments, she tore into the infrastructure, rending the whole mess into a pile of its constituent, thankfully spring-free, parts.  Finally, she laid on the floor, surrounded by shredded bedding, and closed her huge black eyes.</p><p>Tony said in a strange voice, “She’s nesting.”</p><p>Steve replied, “Marker nests.”</p><p>Shaking his head, Tony said, “She’s <em>nesting</em>,” and Steve looked at him, his scrupulous features unkempt, his pallor decidedly ghostly.  “Please tell me you know what that—”</p><p>“We weren’t gone that long,” Steve said, puzzled.  Snow flicked an eye open to look at him, and he took the hint, shooing Tony into the hall.  Marker stood nearby, a curious gold shadow.  He ducked his head briefly to worry at a claw with his teeth, and Steve noticed, really noticed, the distinct lack of spines across his back.</p><p>He could be <em>saddled</em>, Steve supposed, but woe unto the person who tried to saddle a dragon. </p><p>Marker straightened, and Steve caught a glimpse of a ghostly Howard next to him, the perennially smiling showman with an arm around his young dragon.  In Steve’s memory, they were always young, Radon and Howard; he wondered if Tony saw the opposite, his aging father, his ever-growing dragon.</p><p>“She was gone for half a year,” Tony reminded quietly.</p><p>Steve had, quite honestly, banished the thought from memory.  He wasn’t entirely sure there wasn’t a hint of dragon magic involved—one look into those depthless black eyes and he could be persuaded to forsake his own name—but he wasn’t angry about her absence, wasn’t devastated that he hadn’t found her sooner.  He’d found her exactly when she’d wanted him to.</p><p>“That’s fine,” Steve said, not quite absorbing the implication.  “That’s—”</p><p>Tony shook his head, tilting his head very slightly to indicate Marker behind him.  “Do you know what he’ll do to hatchlings that aren’t his?” he hissed.  Marker clicked in response, sharing his agitation.  A warning rumble came from Snow.</p><p>Steve said, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, Tony.”</p><p>“We have to cross it <em>now</em> before it’s <em>too late</em>,” Tony hissed back.</p><p>Steve just took his arm—gently—and mutely led him away.  Marker followed, black eyes very watchful, ready to tear Steve’s head off if he hurt his companion.  It was the wonderful thing about dragons.  It was the terrible thing about dragons.</p><p>“Have you talked to Bruce?” he asked, gently redirecting Tony’s ire.</p><p>As expected, Tony’s expression thawed from furious to anguished.  He did rally admirably: “My dragon killed his.  Would <em>you</em>?”</p><p>Marker clicked slowly behind them.  Tony turned to his dragon, said, “I know <em>why</em>,” and pressed a fist to his own forehead.  “I don’t blame you,” he told Marker, who clicked back at him steadily.  “It was an accident.”  He held himself together by a very narrow string, turning to Steve again and saying almost brightly, “Bound to happen.  Can’t keep two dragons under the same roof without a little friendly argument.”</p><p>Steve felt quietly sick at the implication, but he took his own advice: “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he repeated solemnly.  He refused to lose Snow.  Above all else, he would not be parted with her.  If she chose to live a life at sea, then he would be there, in the clouds, with her.  He would starve to death before he ever cajoled her to land.</p><p>Soul-stealers.  What a terrible, perfect epithet.</p>
<hr/><p>In the morning, Steve awoke abruptly, heart pounding as he realized he was not with his dragon. </p><p>He was moving the warm weight next to him aside before a warning rumble stilled his hand.  He looked over and saw Marker in the corner, black eyes very watchful, curled up but ready to strike.</p><p>He looked back down at the warm weight of Tony curled up against him, so tired he did not even wake for Marker, chest rising and falling shallowly.  The pillow at Steve’s back was a sorry excuse for an alternative to the cold, hard wall.  But the serum did not allow stiffness to settle so easily into his bones; with a single light shake, he was good to go, invigorated, alive.</p><p>Steve stayed where he was, letting Tony rest, eyes on Marker. </p><p>For a dreamy moment, Steve could see a memory, a child lying on the floor some short distance in front of the ever-growing Marker.  Halfway between coats, his scales were bright yellow in places, more like the sun than the gold leaf they would become, and gave him an almost scruffy appearance, his forehead splashed bright yellow, his back patchy gold.  Howard didn’t groom him very often, preferring to let the illusion stand that the dragon was still as young and vibrant as memory would serve.</p><p>Steve could only imagine what the child, curled up on his side, looked like; he’d never seen Tony in his youth, not even a picture.  It would be over a decade before Marker would bond with his new companion.  At that time, he would still be Radon—Howard Stark’s greatest possession.</p><p>Nearly every child dreamed of bonding with a dragon when they grew up, but so few had the opportunity to <em>grow up</em> around one.  How disappointing, Steve wondered, would it be, to grow up alongside Radon, marveling at Pa’s dragon, only to lose both when the time arrived?  He could only imagine the quiet fears Tony must have harbored, seeing how devoted Radon and Howard were to each other, knowing that someday, he might lose both.</p><p>He wondered grimly which loss would have hurt more, and already knew.</p><p>
  <em>He got mean.  There were days when I wanted him to die.  What kind of son wishes for his own father’s death, huh?</em>
</p><p>Steve didn’t know.  He’d loved his father without ever knowing him, longed to join the Army because of his Pa’s bravery in the first World War.  (How sad, he reflected, one arm curved around Tony’s chest, that there were <em>two</em>.)  He’d done so much because his Pa hadn’t been there to do it, set the example—his Ma was it, and his Ma was more than enough.  She was the best mother he could imagine.</p><p>Little was known about dragon mothers.  So little it began to make Steve anxious: he barely knew how to care for Snow as she was, how was he supposed to ensure she was able to carry her eggs to term?  What was he to <em>do </em>with them, once they arrived?  Once they hatched?  Tony’s warning about dragons under one roof felt painfully real in the wake of Terror’s death.</p><p>He’d kill Marker himself if he tried to hurt Snow or her hatchlings.  It was not an idle thought; it was a promise.  Nothing came before her. </p><p>Tony would hate him for the rest of his life, might even feud with him—it was not uncommon for such disputes to end in blood—but Steve was Snow’s protector.  He would rather die than fail her.</p><p>God help him, let it never come to that.</p>
<hr/><p>It was never about technique, Steve realized, as Snow tilted her huge head and scraped it against his side or back, chafing her face against him in a show of companionability.  It hurt like the devil—even her comparatively soft cheek scaling was coarse, and his skin abraded under it—but he welcomed the contact, the confirmation of the bond between them.</p><p>She accepted the deer carcasses he brought back for her.  It felt like a neat trade-off: in the arctic, she had kept him well-fed, and now, he did the same, often spending the entire day out in the woods.  He did not love to hunt—he did not like to take the life of another animal whose frantic heart he could hear, whose soul he could practically feel leaving it as he plunged a knife into its chest—but he excelled at it. </p><p>As Snow crunched through the aftermath and purred in contentment, he learned to push aside his own qualms.  There was something satisfying in it, the whole process—the extended search, the brief kill, and the long walk home, still-warm body slung over one shoulder.  It felt honorable to the beasts he sacrificed to her that he carried the burden of the hunt.  No lamb carcass had the same moral weight as a still-warm deer slung over his shoulder.</p><p>He worried, in brief moments, that he was not taming her—as if it was even <em>possible</em>—but becoming more feral.  He thought of Bruce, desperate and hand-wringing and calling himself a vegetarian, sacrificing bits and pieces of himself to keep his dragon fed.  He stopped engaging in most human activities altogether, cutting off contact so he could focus on his nesting dragon. </p><p>There were lots of books on bonding and even the loss of a dragon; there was almost nothing written about nesting dragons, except as speculation.  Steve worked blind but confident that Snow would tell him everything he needed to know with a single look, maybe a few clicks.</p><p>When she looked at him one morning, he knew that it was time to go.</p><p>Tony stilled mid-movement when Steve announced it.  He set down his wrench, spun slowly on his chair, and looked at Steve like he had announced he would be beheading himself come dawn and had invited Tony to come watch.  For an unnervingly long moment, Tony stared at him, processing.  He was thin and gaunt and ill, and Steve thought the arctic would kill him, but he needed it, too.</p><p>They were almost different species, the aggressive, soft-headed, familial males versus the hyper-aggressive, sharp-headed, solitary females.  It was not fair to compare their needs, to expect dragons like Terror and Marker to coexist.  Terror had only been half, maybe less, of Marker’s size; Marker had had seventy years to outgrow her.  Snow could rip Marker to pieces, <em>without </em>her horns.  And she had spent half a century in near total isolation.  Marker was the family pet.</p><p>Marker had killed Terror; Marker had nearly killed <em>Tony</em>.  Marker was no one’s pet.</p><p>“Come with us,” Steve said.  Tony’s expression morphed from shock to surprise, and it occurred to Steve that Tony hadn’t thought he was invited, which was foolish—<em>they </em>were bonded.  Marker clicked, like he understood—and he probably <em>did</em>, Steve realized, with a start; the bond, whatever it was, had to go both ways, the sheer exposure to human mannerisms an education—and Steve knew what Tony would say before he said it:</p><p>“Where to?”</p>
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